


Dance With Me

by helens78



Category: Establishment RPF, Highlander RPF, James Bond (Movies) RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Multi, Rough Sex, Two tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-02
Updated: 2005-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pierce and Peter are both more top than bottom, and it's hard to figure out how to make this complicated dance work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Step

They've been dancing around it for a while now. The attraction's always been there, but they've never done anything about it. Neither of them switches. They're not terribly compatible in bed; both of them are too committed to being on top.

Pierce is standing at the bar waiting for his drink when Peter walks up. Peter slides onto a bar stool and leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar, and he turns to Pierce with one eyebrow raised. "You're alone tonight?"

Pierce arches an eyebrow in return, tempted to slide onto a stool himself, take a moment to talk to Peter. He shrugs, reaching out for his Guinness. "The night's young."

"Youth is in the eye of the beholder," Peter says. "Do you want company?"

"Would I be at the bar if I didn't?"

"Touché," Peter says. "Do you want _my_ company?"

"I wouldn't turn it down."

Peter gets the bartender's attention and points at Pierce's glass. "I'll have a pint of what my friend's having," he says. The bartender nods and heads off to build a second Guinness.

"You're alone tonight as well," Pierce observes. "I heard you didn't renew your last contract. Would it be prying to ask why?"

"Yes." Peter smirks. "But I'll let you pry if you'll take a seat."

"Fair enough." Pierce sits down next to Peter just as Peter's drink comes up, and Peter takes a long, thirsty swallow. Pierce follows suit, licking a bit of foam off his upper lip when he's done.

"Now, as for your question... no particular reason. Stephen's a good boy. Not one I want to spend another six months with, that's all. But we parted well."

_Unlike some,_ Pierce thinks, turning his attention to his Guinness. "Good to hear," he says.

"Are you in the market for a new lad yet?" Peter asks. He grins. "It's my turn to pry, apparently."

"So it is," Pierce says. "No, not yet. I'm here looking for an uncomplicated someone to fuck into a wall."

"I probably don't qualify, then," Peter sighs. "What would you settle for?"

Pierce thinks about it hard; the offer sounded serious enough. "A fuck in a bed," he says, "and I'll either trade you after or I'll owe you one."

"If we're talking about trading off, I'll give you the wall," Peter says. Counter-offer. "But I won't want you against the wall when we're done. I'll want your throat. Deal?"

"Deal." Pierce looks at his Guinness, half-finished and still looking damned good. "Does the offer expire if I stay here long enough to finish my drink?"

"Not as long as I get to finish mine."

* * *

It occurs to Pierce once they get into the elevator that they've never kissed before. He wonders whether it would be a good idea to start now, and doesn't really have an answer for himself by the time the door opens again and Peter's walking out. It's strange, all the things a kiss implies that a fuck and a blowjob don't. All the territory it covers that more overtly sexual acts wouldn't. And there's Pierce's answer; he wanted an uncomplicated fuck tonight, and bringing kissing into it wouldn't fit that description at all.

Peter opens the door. The suite's dim, but not dark. The door swings shut behind Pierce, and Peter stops, right there in the entryway, hands at his sides, looking at Pierce. Pierce holds still a few seconds, just watching Peter. Looking at the set of his shoulders, the arch of his throat, wondering if Peter's eyes were always that shade of green or if it's the lack of light in the room.

"It's your move," Peter murmurs.

"There's a wall right beside you," Pierce answers, stepping around behind Peter and running his hands down Peter's shoulders -- _stronger than he looks_ \-- down his arms, catching his wrists in a light grip. "It'll do nicely." He turns both their bodies, presses Peter forward, toward the wall. He raises Peter's arms, crosses them at the forearms and leans Peter into them.

Peter's breathing hard already, and Pierce is starting to do the same.

"How do you want me?" Peter whispers. "Docile? Would you rather I fight you for it?"

"I just want you," Pierce replies, and it surprises him a bit that he means it. He slides his hands down Peter's sides, holds onto Peter's waist and grinds forward, rubbing his cock against the cleft of Peter's arse. "However you want to play it."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want this," Peter murmurs. "Be rough, Pierce. I can take it."

_God._ Seven words, and Pierce is half-dizzy already just from hearing them. He reaches around to the front of Peter's jeans, pops the button open and yanks at the zipper. _Be rough._ He slides his hands into Peter's waistband and shoves jeans and boxers down in one hard push. He's done this more times than he can remember to more men than he can remember, but this time it's different. Maybe it's knowing he isn't any more on top than Peter is, or how long they've spent dancing around the attraction, or the excitement of having someone new for the first time.

Pierce runs his palms up the front of Peter's thighs, pressing his cock even harder against Peter's arse. Peter arches his neck back, groaning. Pierce could probably keep the tease up for a while, but he's not patient enough tonight, and that wasn't what he was after in the first place with this fuck. He wanted to plow into someone, wanted it rough and hard (_be rough, Pierce; I can take it_), and neither one of them needs him to wait.

So he digs the condom out of his pocket, unzips his jeans and slides a hand inside them, pulls out his cock and fists it roughly. He tears the packet open, rolls the condom over his cock. He puts his hand on Peter's hip, brushing fingertips over warm skin. "You're going to feel so good," he murmurs. He bends forward and licks at the back of Peter's neck. "How much prep do you want?"

Peter chuckles. "As much as you want to give me. It's going to hurt no matter what you do, have you figured that out yet?"

Pierce bites the back of Peter's neck, sinking his teeth in slowly before licking over the bite. "I wonder how you'll sound when I'm hurting you."

"Find out."

Pierce sucks two fingers into his mouth, then brings them to Peter's opening, pressing them in slow at first, then deeper as Peter rocks back against the motion and hisses out a breath. The breath's controlled, but Pierce can hear the undertones of pain in it.

"_Fuck_," he growls, shoving his fingers in deeper, twisting them.

"You'd better," Peter hisses back, dropping his head against his arms again. "After all this? You'd better fuck me until I _scream_, Brosnan."

"And then what?" Pierce asks, withdrawing his fingers, trailing his thumb down Peter's cleft. "Then you fuck me until I can't?"

Peter laughs again as he feels the head of Pierce's cock nudging against his opening. "That's the idea. I want your voice so rough I can't make out a single goddamned word -- _Christ_," his mouth drops open as Pierce presses forward the first inch, "fucking _Christ_, don't stop, just don't stop, Pierce, _fucking hell._"

"As if I would." Pierce works his way in deeper, slides his hands up Peter's sides, over his shoulders, over his arms. He forces his hips forward another few inches with one jerking, solid shove and slams his hands against the wall at either side of Peter's forearms. "_Take it._"

"_Jesus_," Peter spits, clenching up around Pierce's cock and trying to force himself to relax. "That's it. Just like that. Think about how it'll feel when it's my cock forcing its way down your throat."

"You think about that," Pierce says, hips moving back and then forward, rough rocking thrusts that carry him forward another inch, then another, almost all the way in now, _almost_. Christ. "I'm all right where I am."

"Oh, God. Fuck, oh God, Christ," Peter pants. "Yeah, I'm all right where you are, too. Come on. Fuck me, Brosnan. Harder."

_Harder._ Pierce buries his face in Peter's shoulder, loses himself to the feeling. It's what he came here to get, the impossibly tight heat of another man pressed up against a wall, the scent of his sweat as Pierce fucks him hard enough to hurt, the sound of his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. It's good enough he could come any moment, but he wants it to last, wants the memory burned into Peter's skin the way it's going to be for him.

He gets his fingernails on Peter's wrists, drags them up his forearms until the sweater sleeves bunched up at his elbows stop him. Peter cries out, slams his head back against Pierce's shoulder. "Christ, Pierce--"

"More?"

It takes Peter a few more breaths before he can answer. He nods as soon as he's able to. "Your show," he whispers. His eyes are closed.

Pierce slides a hand under Pierce's sweater, drags his fingernails up the center of his chest. It's not that hard, but it makes Peter squeeze his eyes shut that much tighter. Pierce shoves his hips forward and nearly forces Peter out of his balance. He pushes back as hard as Pierce is pushing forward. Pierce responds by dragging his nails over Peter's nipple.

"_Fuck._"

"More?" Pierce grins.

Peter drops his head back into the hollow of Pierce's shoulder. "God, you bastard, just fucking come already," he breathes, deliberately clenching around Pierce's cock and groaning.

"If you don't want me hurting you this way, tell me to stop," Pierce murmurs. He pinches Peter's nipple between two fingers and _twists_, and Peter screams and arches into Pierce as hard as he can. It's the scream that makes Pierce drop both hands to Peter's hips and force his way in hard and brutal, no more thinking, no more trying to be kind. He groans as he comes, eyes squeezing shut, body shuddering.

Peter's hands curl into fists, and he waits it out, eyes closed and body shaking.

It takes Pierce a while before he can speak again, and when he does he's not particularly coherent about it. _"Christ"_ is about as good as it gets, and he backs off, licking his way up the side of Peter's neck as his cock slips free of Peter's body. "Mmm_mmm_."

"Give me five minutes to rest and we'll see if you can say even _that_ much," Peter whispers. "Go clean up. I'll meet you in the bedroom."

Pierce grins and makes his way through the suite to the bathroom, disposing of the condom and taking care of the minimum needed cleanup. He runs some water onto a washcloth and gets some of the sweat off the back of his neck.

Peter's out in the bedroom by the time Pierce comes out, resting against the bed's footboard, jeans up around his hips but cock out, hard, and in his hand. He's stroking it -- slow and lazy -- as he watches Pierce walk over to him.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to kneel for this."

"As long as you don't expect me to beg."

"Perish the thought." Peter shakes his head, keeps stroking.

Pierce grins and goes to his knees, shifting and tugging at his jeans until the position's comfortable. He tilts his head back, looking up at Peter. "Well," he murmurs, "I'm here."

Peter smiles and slides his free hand to the back of Pierce's neck, just holding, not even squeezing. "So you are," he murmurs. "This'll go better if you open your mouth, luv."

"I _have_ done this before," Pierce says, rolling his eyes. He parts his lips, opens his mouth and lets his tongue rest on his lower lip.

It's so startling seeing him do it that Peter almost loses his rhythm. _You'd be gorgeous if you were truly on your knees,_ he thinks, but he suspects saying so would ruin the mood. He puts it out of his mind as he presses forward, slides the head of his cock between Pierce's lips and moans as he sinks deep into Pierce's mouth. "_God_," Peter breathes, eyes widening as he watches Pierce swallowing him in. "God, Pierce, you look almost better than you -- _nnn_ \-- feel..."

Pierce swallows around Peter's cock once, then holds his mouth still as Peter keeps going, fills his mouth inch by inch. He can still breathe, and he thinks Peter's going to let him keep breathing a while, so he enjoys the air while he's got it and gives the occasional flick with his tongue against the underside of Peter's cock. Every flick makes Peter shiver, and every shiver makes him thrust deeper.

"You feel," Peter moans, "_so_ fucking good," and he slides his hands into Pierce's hair, holding him steady. A moment passes that way, then another, and then Peter tightens his grip in Pierce's hair and starts fucking his mouth, carrying his cock deep before pulling back, slow and easy, not in any rush to have this end.

Pierce understands why Peter said all the things he did earlier. _Harder._ He'd ask for that if he could. Barring the ability to speak, he gets his hands up and tucks his fingers into Peter's pockets, then jerks him forward, hard, all-at-once. Peter gasps and his grip in Pierce's hair goes tight enough to bring tears to Pierce's eyes, but Christ, that doesn't matter to Pierce at all. The request's been made, and Peter gives up the slow pace in favor of long, hard, deep strokes that choke Pierce every time, make him wonder if he'll be able to stand this as long as he needs to for Peter to come.

Peter stops thinking somewhere between Pierce's sharp teeth and his mouth's tight suction. He lets his mouth drop open and starts panting, rough gasping moans with every shove forward, and it's not long before he's fucking Pierce's mouth and choking him with it. Pierce struggles, but he's struggling with his hands on the backs of Peter's thighs, urging him to keep going, give more. The last coherent thought Peter has is wondering whether it's possible to die through feeling too fucking good.

Pierce tightens his hands on Peter's legs, tries to drag Peter forward in case he was thinking about backing off, thinking about sparing Pierce the need to choose between spitting out his come or swallowing it down. Pierce is ready, throat open as much as it can be, mouth hot and willing, and he groans on one of the rare strokes out that leaves him enough room to breathe and make sound.

That groan -- oh, fuck, that groan is just too much, and Peter cries out as he plunges hard into Pierce's mouth one more time, cock pulsing over and over in the back of Pierce's throat, and while he doesn't die, he does stop breathing, a state that lasts until he starts seeing black flickers at the edges of his vision. _Oh fucking Jesus hell. Christ._ He pulls back as soon as the spasms are over and he can breathe again. "Fuck," he whispers, then licks overly dry lips and clears his throat. "Fucking good," he tries.

Pierce coughs a few times before managing to swallow Peter's come. He'd like to stand up, slant his mouth over Peter's and make Peter taste his own come on Pierce's lips, but it's not going to happen. It's a move too rough and too dominating to make here. Which is a damned shame, because in truth, Peter wouldn't mind it. He wouldn't request it, but he wouldn't shove Pierce away, either.

Pierce stands up as Peter puts his cock away, and he leans against the footboard, looking down at the duvet instead of looking up at Peter. "That was good," he murmurs. And then curiosity overtakes him and he can't help himself. "Why tonight?"

Peter's smile is enigmatic, a carefully-practiced expression he's sorry Pierce won't see. "Because I had to," he says. "And so did you."


	2. Two Step

This is the first time fucking someone's sent Pierce back to the status quo of watching and pretending not to watch, of catching glances that mean Peter's doing the same. They're dancing around it all over again, and neither of them's mentioned that night since it happened. It wasn't a mistake. It simply wasn't in the game plan, and Pierce doesn't know how he's expected to react.

So he's out tonight, dancing with a boy who wants more than just the dancing. He wants to serve, offers to get Pierce a drink when Pierce expresses thirst, but what Pierce wants is five minutes to breathe outside the warm crush of the crowd, and so he makes his way through a floor full of dancers and leans forward toward the bartender.

"Water," he calls out, "Vittel, if you have it." Of course they have it; the bartender produces a chilled, sweating bottle and twists the cap off before handing it over. Pierce nods to him, drops a tip in the jar on the counter, and slides out from the crowd, heading around the corner and down three stairs so he can rest against the wall in a semblance of quiet. The stairwell provides a little insulation; down the stairs is nothing but a locked door that leads to storage. Pierce closes his eyes.

Despite all the distractions, he notices when a shadow moves over him. He notices the scent of sweat, too, above and beyond what the crowd brings. He doesn't open his eyes. He waits, and he's pinned in, hands to either side of his shoulders, thigh pressing between his legs, body leaning in close. So close Pierce feels breath ghosting across his lips.

The other man doesn't speak, but he doesn't have to. Pierce knows him by scent; hell, he knows him by the way the air moves to make room for him. _Peter._ Pierce doesn't remember seeing him in the crowd, but he's here now. And Pierce is rapidly growing hard against his thigh.

Peter's been watching Pierce for the last half hour, amazed at the sight of him in the middle of a tangle of crowd. It's not that he thought Pierce was too dignified to dance, and it's not that he expected Pierce to be bad at it, but for some reason seeing Pierce _abandoned_ that way was a shock that settled into the pit of his stomach and made him want to get Pierce alone. Immediately, if possible.

It turned out immediately wasn't possible, but it was worth waiting to see him walk off the dance floor, to watch him turn into the stairwell and know they'd have a bit of privacy. Peter's here alone, having thought he might pick out a boy of his own for the evening, but he's got different plans now, all centering around the man he's just pinned against the wall.

He slides his tongue out over Pierce's lips, satisfaction flushing through him as Pierce moans and opens his mouth. Pierce hasn't even opened his eyes, and Peter's got him. _Yes. Oh, yes._

Another long, slow lick, and Pierce gasps this time, then slides his own tongue forward, almost tentatively, to meet Peter's. Peter lets him get away with it at first, but when he traces Pierce's mouth again, when Pierce thrusts his tongue forward hard, looking for more, Peter pulls back.

"Mine," he whispers.

_Yours?_ Pierce wonders. But he opens his mouth and lets Peter slip his tongue inside, drops one hand to the rail behind him and squeezes hard while Peter gets to know his lips, his tongue, finds out that licking into the corners of Pierce's mouth makes him jump and squirm his cock against whatever's handy.

And then Peter thrusts his tongue forward, once and then twice and then again, finding a rhythm for it, _fucking_ Pierce's mouth with his tongue. Pierce shivers, parting his legs further, and Peter's thigh presses in hard enough to hurt.

"How many times," he whispers, then remembers to raise his voice a few decibels. "How many times have you stood where I am now and reduced someone to tears before you let him come?"

More than Pierce can count easily. "Jesus, Peter..."

"I want you."

Pierce wraps an arm around Peter's waist and grinds his cock against his thigh. "I want you, too," he whispers. "Where the hell have you been?"

Peter doesn't answer because there is no answer. He's neither been avoiding Pierce nor seeking him out; he's here tonight not because he was looking for anything in particular but because tonight he wasn't _not_ looking.

He kisses Pierce again, tongues rubbing rough and warm against each other. His hands slide behind Pierce's back, and he tugs Pierce forward harder, moaning softly into Pierce's mouth.

It's enough to make Pierce forget all about the boy on the dance floor. He drops his water, wraps his arms around Peter's waist and lets Peter lead the kiss. _This time._ Later Peter's going to owe him one, but for now, God, it doesn't matter who's leading. All that matters is the kiss, warm and hungry, edging both of them toward desperate.

It's the sounds Peter makes that drive Pierce over; one soft, panted gasp is too much, and he shoves his cock hard against Peter's thigh, tearing his mouth away as he comes hard, _so_ fucking hard, crying out as his cock jerks in his pants.

Peter's not far behind; he slants his mouth over Pierce's, capturing the last of that cry, and he comes, too, slamming Pierce against the wall with every jerking, aching pulse.

Pierce ignores the sticky discomfort and slings an arm around Peter's neck, holding him close. He's got no words, but he doesn't suppose either of them need them.

Peter licks his way up the side of Pierce's neck, similarly quiet. He nestles into Pierce's shoulder, sighing.

All it would take is one of them saying four words: _come home with me_. But the words don't come -- no words come -- and eventually either Peter pulls back or Pierce pushes him back, one or the other, and there's one more soft kiss before they part ways for the night.


	3. Twist

The knock on Pierce's door takes him by surprise. It's two in the afternoon on a Sunday. He can't imagine who'd be on his doorstep now.

He gets the door, swings it open, and surprise goes even further when he sees it's Peter. Not what he was expecting at all, and he's startled enough he can't even get out a "hello".

Not a problem; Peter starts talking before the silence can even get awkward. "Are you doing anything this afternoon?"

"No..."

"You alone in there?"

"..yes."

"Good." Peter puts a hand on Pierce's chest and backs him into the apartment. "Show me where you keep your bedroom."

_You're joking,_ Pierce thinks, but he covers Peter's hand with his and backs up further, down the hall, and by the time they're at the side of his bed the distance between them isn't an arm's length anymore, and Pierce pulls Peter up on the bed. They fall over in a tangle of arms and legs, crawling backwards until they've got themselves more or less centered.

Pierce wishes his expression were schooled better; he has a feeling he's grinning harder than he wants to be. But Peter's not watching Pierce's expression. He's kissing Pierce's jaw, his throat, biting at the line between collar and skin. Pierce squeezes Peter's ass and tugs him down harder, arching up while Peter grinds down. Pierce gasps, tilts his head back and lets Peter have better access to his throat. Peter's teeth sink in harder, and Pierce winces, but he doesn't try to pull away.

"_Good_," Peter hums out, both hands groping down Pierce's sides to tug at his shirt. Pierce, in turn, yanks at Peter's sweater, starts shoving it up towards his shoulders, and then there's a laughing, awkward wrestle while Peter straddles Pierce's thighs and jerks the sweater off and Pierce peels out of his t-shirt. Pierce stops worrying about his smile. Peter's grinning, too, narrowed eyes and all, and that's reassurance enough; if he's getting carried away, at least Peter's coming with him.

Peter runs fingers through Pierce's chest hair and chuckles. "Feels good," he says. "I wondered."

"Feels good from here, too," Pierce says, "get _down_ here, you bastard," and he reaches up, cups the back of Peter's neck in his hand. He presses his mouth to Peter's, kisses him while elbows search for the right spot to settle down -- not the spot just under the collarbone, not poking into a bicep, _there_, on the covers, Peter's arms cradling Pierce's head. Oh, and after all that struggle, it feels so good to be wrapped all around each other that Pierce doesn't even mind the way Peter's thighs insinuate themselves between his legs, the way this position calls for wrapping one of his legs around Peter's waist while an argyle-covered toe traces a line up and down the back of Peter's calf. Everything's chaos, but who gives a damn when the kissing feels _so_ good, better than Pierce remembered it, better when it's not against a wall or choked with smoke and sweat from the hundred other men in the nightclub.

"Want--"

"_Yes._"

Peter starts kissing down Pierce's chest, rubbing his face in the rough texture of his hair as he moves lower, lower still, hands moving to Pierce's waist so he can unsnap the button and get his fly unzipped. Pierce is in the process of sitting up when Peter lowers his face, rubs his nose, mouth, chin against Pierce's cock and breathes hot air against denim and brass and silk, and Pierce curls forward, rubs his fingers through hair too short to tangle into or grip.

"More--"

"Don't be so fucking pushy." Peter goes back to pulling down Pierce's jeans and boxers, this time getting them off him completely before standing up and working on his own jeans. Pierce gets rid of his socks and opens a nightstand looking for lube, bringing lube and condom back to the bed as Peter finishes stepping out of his clothes and joins Pierce again, nicking the condom out of Pierce's hand and leaning down to lick over his collarbone.

Everything feels so natural. Pierce closes his eyes when Peter starts licking a trail down the center of his chest. _Don't push,_ he thinks, and so he doesn't, not when Peter's lips drift just above his cock, warm air tickling too-sensitive skin. _Don't push_, and he leaves Peter to his own pace while he digs fingers into the covers and gasps, the shock of it when Peter opens his mouth and sinks down over his cock almost too much to stand. "God, _yes_, more..."

Peter sucks, licks, swallows until he's got Pierce all the way down his throat, and then he's moving faster, sucking hard, and Pierce rocks his hips up without even thinking about it, needing more, _more_, "Christ, don't stop..."

He doesn't stop. Not until Pierce's teeth are clenched and he's fighting orgasm with every breath; he doesn't want it to end that soon. Every hard sucking stroke up the length of Pierce's cock makes him gasp, and every soft sweep of Peter's tongue just under the head makes his vision go dim and his body shake from pleasure. _Oh, fuck, you're so good._

Peter finally licks Pierce's cock base-to-tip one more time and then sits up, wrapping a hand around his own cock and giving himself a few long strokes. "Jesus, Pierce, you taste good..."

"You feel incredible." Pierce gropes through the covers for the lube and tosses it to Peter. "Fuck me."

Peter catches the lube and laughs, flicking the cap open and coating his fingers with it. He leans over Pierce's body, bracing himself on one arm while the other hand moves between Pierce's legs and starts pressing rough fingers against his opening. Pierce spreads his legs a little further, reaches up and sinks his fingernails into Peter's shoulders.

"_Fuck_\--!" Peter winces, takes a moment's revenge by shoving his fingers in deep. It just makes Pierce grip tighter; he forces his eyes shut as he adjusts to the feeling.

Peter's impatient. He's already thrusting his fingers in and out, and Pierce catches the rhythm and starts shoving down against Peter's hand. "Christ," he pants. "Peter..."

"Like that?" Peter asks, twisting his fingers and groaning at the resulting nailbite into his shoulders. "God, you look so good this way..."

"Then _fuck me_." Pierce finally gets one of his hands loose, glances down the bed for the lube. He squeezes a good amount of it into his palm and reaches for Peter's cock, stroking up the length of it, getting his cock warm and slick and making Peter grind his teeth together and curse.

"_Bastard_\--"

"_Fuck me._"

And finally Peter does, pulling his hand away and replacing it with his cock, sinking in rough and deep. His head snaps back, and Pierce almost screams at the feel of it. "Oh _fuck_ that's good..."

Peter settles down on top of Pierce, shoves forward and then pulls back, the thrusts awkward for a few seconds before they find a rhythm together. And then Pierce is shoving up against Peter as much as he can, and Peter's fucking Pierce, dropping his head to Pierce's shoulder and biting, and _oh God_, Pierce thinks, _next time we have to skip the foreplay because this isn't going to last long_. The incredible hot slick feel of being _full_ pushes him up and over in almost no time at all, and as soon as Peter feels the jets of Pierce's come across his stomach, he's every bit as lost, neck arching back as he comes, shoves his way in as deep as he can and comes hard, the shout he lets out echoing off the walls.

He rolls over almost immediately, curling around Pierce and burying his face in Pierce's shoulder. He makes a few sounds, as if he's struggling for words, but nothing's forthcoming.

Pierce comes up on his side and cups Peter's cheek in his hand. He brushes his nose against Peter's, fits his lips over his friend's. It's a warm kiss this time, not desperate. Not rushed. And Peter kisses back, slow and deep.

It doesn't matter that neither one of them's got words.


	4. Waltz

This isn't supposed to be happening. The sex he can understand, has even grown to crave. To the point where he's showing up on Pierce's doorstep unannounced, saying things like _Where do you keep your bedroom?_

But the quiet moments after -- _those_ aren't supposed to happen. Peter knows Pierce and his habits with the men he brings home. Peter should be out the door by now.

He's not, though. He'd go if Pierce shoved him out, but that doesn't seem too likely.

At this point Peter's considering making it a contest. Not leaving until Pierce kicks him out. They've had dinner (which Peter cooked) and fed each other dessert (which led to trading blowjobs in the living room) and now Peter's heading back to bed, looking through the sheets for the condom so they don't roll over it by accident in the night and--

\--wait a minute.

There's a condom. There has to be.

_Oh, shit._

Pierce walks in as Peter yanks the top sheet off the bed. He raises an eyebrow. "Did we stain them too much to sleep in?"

The slightly giddy (how did he get to be giddy over this man?) feeling in his chest is rolled over completely by Peter's realization, and he blurts it out instead of finding a way to soften it. "I fucked you bareback this afternoon."

"The hell you did," Pierce sputters. "You _what_?"

"There's no--" There is, actually; there's a still-wrapped condom on Pierce's pillow now that the top sheet has been ripped free.

"Oh." Pierce runs a hand up the length of the mattress, as if looking harder for the condom will somehow produce one. "Jesus. Did you mean to?"

"I believe you were the one slicking lube all over my bare cock and saying _fuck me_," Peter responds, ice all over his tone.

"Christ." Pierce sits down heavily. "I do remember doing that. You didn't notice at the time?"

_Heat, tight slick heat, almost volcanic, Pierce under him, squeezing him so tight, surrounding him, oh God._ Peter sits down, too, annoyed with his cock for getting so involved with the flashback. He makes a quick adjustment and groans softly with relief. "Apparently neither of us did."

Pierce grimaces. "I assume you have recent bloodwork?"

"Of course I do. You?"

"In the study if you'd like to see it."

Peter shakes his head; the conversation's enough for him. The last thing either of them are is reckless.

_Which explains this how?_ asks a snarky little voice in Peter's head, and he tries not to snarl back at it. The expression would probably show.

"What do we say, then?" Pierce asks. "We resolve to be more careful in the future and we don't let it happen again?"

"Sounds rather regimented."

"Don't tell me that's a complaint."

"Strictly an observation." Peter pauses. "It does make one thing obvious, though."

"What's that?"

"We're both assuming there's going to be an 'again'."

Pierce blinks a few times and then crosses his arms over his chest. "Would 'again' be a bad thing?"

"Not at all." Peter winces. "I suppose I should have hesitated there, shouldn't I?"

"Stop it."

"What--?"

"Have we gotten to a point where we can stop playing games with each other?" Pierce's arms stay crossed, and if anything he looks to be pulling further into himself even as his words take risks Peter never really expected them to take with each other. "Can we not admit that there's something happening here?"

Peter closes the gap between them, runs his hands down Pierce's arms. "You're right. I'm sorry for joking." _I'm nervous,_ he thinks, _or I wouldn't have to joke._ He leans in closer, brushes his lips against Pierce's. "Something's happening here. And I don't want to stop, or make any _it'll never happen again_ promises. I want--"

"This?" Pierce asks softly, finally uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on Peter's chest. "I want this, too." He bends forward, kisses Peter back.

"I was thinking," Peter murmurs, "that I might stay until you asked me to go home. But I'd rather you invite me, if I can choose."

"Oh," Pierce says, fingers digging into Peter's shoulders. "Then stay. Please?"

"_Please_ shouldn't sound that good off anyone's lips," Peter says, grinning. "Yes, of course I'll stay."


	5. Tango

Peter can think of so many other things he'd like to be doing right now. He could be at home -- his home, Pierce's home, which one doesn't matter, they've both become _their home_ over the last few weeks. Home isn't just where the heart is. It's also where the novel is, the comfy chairs, the smoke-free air, the bathrooms that aren't disgusting.

But Pierce wanted to dance.

So Peter's at the bar, nursing an amber ale and thinking it'd taste better if he were on a couch in front of a fireplace, about to roll over and give his partner head. The partner in question has a pretty young thing in front of him, and both men look to be having a wonderful time.

_Great, Brosnan. Happy for you. Try not to fuck it out all out of your system before we get home._

Vain hope, probably. Pierce's teeth are all showing, and Peter has no doubt Pierce intends to _use_ those teeth. Probably while he's fucking the boy into a wall.

It doesn't make any sense to resent this. It's something they both do, something they both need, and as much as they both seem to be enjoying getting fucked, neither one wants to roll over. Neither one of them's been looking to be put into a wall, snapped at while the other lets his pants down and then fucks him hard and breathless.

Peter squirms a little on his bar stool. It actually doesn't sound awful.

_Which is a sign you need to get out more yourself,_ he berates himself, looking around the bar. All right, fine... Pierce is going to be busy tonight, there's no reason not to look for someone on his own.

The trouble is that the boys in the crowd don't interest him, and he can't imagine they're going to before the night's out. He doesn't want this, not tonight. He wants to be at home, curled up around his _lover_. A fuck in a bar isn't going to do it tonight.

He shoulders through the crowd, wishing he were inclined to smoke so he'd have something to do with his hands while he's waiting outside. But it's never been one of his vices -- his vices have been limited to sex and acting on impulse instead of thinking things out -- and so he looks around, wondering if it'd be better to take the car and leave Pierce to get a cab home, or to get a cab home himself. Damn. That's a decision, and Peter's not really in the mood to make decisions tonight.

He heads around the corner into the alley and rests his shoulders against brick. A little air. That'll help some. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a while.

As a result, he's caught off-guard when a hand comes down next to his shoulder, half-pinning him in. He blinks his eyes open and looks up. "No thanks," he says.

"You sure?" says the man who's offering. "You look like you need it."

Peter almost laughs at that. "What _exactly_ do I look like I need?"

The man's other arm comes down, and now Peter's pinned in relatively firmly; the man pinning him is taller by a couple of inches and a good deal more broad. He's about the same age, mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes. He couldn't look more unlike Pierce if he were trying.

"Something you don't have to fight for," he says, and Peter's eyes close again as the man's lips come down on Peter's throat. Peter reaches up, threads his fingers into blond strands.

"What's your name?"

"Allen." Warm lips move against Peter's throat, a silent laugh. "Thanks for asking. What's yours?"

"Peter."

Allen draws his hands down Peter's sides, curls his fingers into Peter's hips and draws him forward. It's unbalancing, but Peter's got the wall behind him and Allen in front of him, so he's got nothing to lose by going wherever Allen's leading. He lets Allen pull him away from the wall, lets Allen turn him around.

_Oh._ Peter draws his arms up, rests his forehead against them and keeps his eyes closed. Allen's good, and he doesn't mind that Peter isn't much inclined to talk. He gets Peter's jeans down around his thighs without any trouble, and Peter hears a few soft snaps of latex, then the cold slick press of gloved fingers into his arse.

"Good?"

It surprises Peter that Allen's even asking, but he nods anyway. "Good," he agrees softly. "Fuck me?"

But Allen's not done with prep; he works a third finger into Peter's body and then threads them all together, twisting them back and forth. Peter's mouth drops open and he starts panting softly, arching his back, pressing his hips back against it. And _then_ it's enough for Allen; he draws his fingers back and replaces them with his cock, a slow steady push in that makes Peter brace himself hard against the brick and shove back in order to keep from spilling forward.

* * *

The boy up against the wall's having more trouble staying planted. Pierce wraps an arm around his hips and tugs him back, fucking him rough and fast and sharp, every stroke stabbing into him and making the boy dig his teeth into his lower lip. It makes Pierce grin, that bite, the implication that the boy's holding something back. His next thrust goes in so hard the boy has to let his lip go and cry out, and _God_ that's a good sound -- warm, bright, fleeting. Pierce bites at the boy's shoulder and comes hard, groaning. The boy follows him right over, but Pierce has to admit he didn't care one way or the other whether he did. He just wanted a nice fast fuck against the wall, in the middle of a night full of dancing, just before he goes home with someone he's been growing more and more accustomed to having nearby. It could be a perfect evening at the rate he's going.

Only when he comes out from the back room and starts heading for the bar, Peter's nowhere to be found.

Pierce frowns.

* * *

"Yes, oh God, fuck, yes," the words spilling over each other much to Peter's surprise. He doesn't let strangers fuck him, doesn't come this close to begging for it, doesn't do any of what he's doing now. Or hasn't. And it's not going to help, but God, it's incredible, just what he needed. Allen was right. _Something you don't have to fight for._ He pushes himself up, supporting himself with just one hand as he drops the other to his cock, stroking off nice and steady.

Allen's hands are warm and strong, holding him in place while Allen fucks him. And if Allen's voice is wrong, if he smells wrong, well... it's close enough. Peter lets out a soft groan. "Close," he says.

"Me too," Allen breathes. "Just hang on for me."

Several panting breaths later, Peter manages a shaky "Okay."

* * *

_This is insane._ Pierce frowns. Peter doesn't just leave without saying something. Or -- maybe he does, Pierce doesn't know. They really haven't been at this for very long. He heads out of the bar, glancing around. He'll check the parking lot next -- _was he upset enough to leave with the car?_ \-- but for now he'll take a quick glance into the alley and--

\--_what the fuck._

"Close."

"Me too." Soft breathing from both of them. "Just hang on for me."

Peter nods a few times, then whispers, "Okay."

Pierce stays glued in place, a few steps out of the alley, watching shadowed figures as if he's never seen this before. Never seen two men in an alley outside a club? Ridiculous; of course he's seen it.

_Yeah. I've seen it. But I've never seen two men in an alley when one of them's my..._ He doesn't know what word to use. _My whatever-in-hell-he is._

And all right, maybe he should have expected it. Maybe it shouldn't hit like a fist to the gut, and he shouldn't be surprised by it -- he was coming here to fuck someone else in the first place. It was his fucking _idea_. Getting hurt's a double standard, not fair, and he does his best to shake it off.

But he can't take his eyes off them. He's just glad they haven't noticed.

* * *

Peter lets out a strangled gasp. "_Please._" There. Oh, God. Boundary breached. He squeezes his cock hard, trying to hold back a little longer.

But he doesn't need to. "Now, now, fuck--"

"_Yes._" Peter comes in hard, hot jets, streaking brick and pavement while Allen grunts behind him and slams his hips forward, coming in jerking, gasping groans.

Peter grimaces a little when it's done; his hand's a mess and his arse aches. He forces his eyes open so he can look over his shoulder, but his eyes catch on a voyeur on the pavement just outside the alley.

"Oh... fuck."

* * *

The blond jerks away from Peter, jaw slack as he looks at Pierce. "_Shit_," he says, jerking off his glove and the condom and wrapping both in a handkerchief he'd been pulling out of his pocket. "Sorry..."

"No, it's all right," Peter says, grimacing down at his hand and finally just wiping it off on the front of his jeans. He struggles back into his clothes and shakes his head. "Thanks."

"Yeah, I -- yeah." The blond gives an apologetic look from Pierce to Peter and heads off, leaving Pierce to take his place in the alley.

"I didn't realize you wanted something like that," Pierce says. _Don't get angry. It's not going to help anything if you get angry._

Peter sighs and turns, settling his shoulders against the wall all over again. "I didn't, either," he murmurs. "I didn't particularly want to go out tonight at all, if you want to know the truth."

Pierce stares. "You could have said so."

Peter shrugs that off. "Didn't want to be left alone, either."

"Well, you did an admirable job of not being left alone."

"I beg your pardon?" Peter's eyes flash; his voice drips acid. "What would you have liked? Did you just want me to watch while you picked out a victim and fucked him? Go home telling you what a great fuck you are and how he'll be aching for more the next time you come around? I'm not your fan club, Pierce. I'm not a groupie. I'm your--"

But he doesn't seem to have an answer for that any more than Pierce did, and the pause just makes Pierce that much more irritated. "Fine. You're not a fan club or a groupie or anything in particular; will that make you happy?" It's one step too far, and he realizes it after he says it. "That's not what I meant--"

"Stop it. I'll get a cab home."

Peter comes off the wall and heads for the edge of the alley; Pierce stops him before he can get out onto the sidewalk. "You don't have to do that," he says. "I'll take you. I'm sorry."

"I don't _want_ you to be sorry. Christ, you can be such a prick." Peter jerks his arm out of Pierce's grip. "And you're making me act like an idiot. Just take me home."

The ride home's quiet. Peter keeps his arms crossed, and Pierce tries to think of ways to get conversations started. They all seem more lame than useful, and he sighs until Peter snaps "Would you _stop_ that?" at him. After that it's just silence, heavy and dense, until Pierce pulls up in front of Peter's house.

Neither one of them seems inclined to say anything, and Peter doesn't make any moves toward opening the door, so Pierce takes a chance and puts his hand on Peter's knee. He squeezes, earning a raised eyebrow from Peter, but it doesn't stop him from asking.

"Can you tell me next time if you'd rather stay home?"

Peter uncrosses his arms and slips a hand over Pierce's. "Would you stay home if I asked?"

A few weeks ago, Pierce probably would have said no. He nods, though, this time. "Yes."

"All right." Peter squeezes Pierce's hand. "Cut the motor; come in. Stay the night."

"You sure?" Pierce asks, already shutting off the engine and slipping the key out of the ignition.

"Pierce, I've been sure of very little when it comes to you, and acting on instinct more than anything." Peter opens his door and slides out of the car. "Is that enough?"

"More than," Pierce says, and follows Peter inside.


	6. Foxtrot

"That one?"

"Too thin," Pierce says, wrinkling his nose. Peter lifts an eyebrow; the boy in question isn't any thinner than Peter, and Peter's seen Pierce go off with boys of all shapes and sizes.

But if Pierce is going to be picky tonight, Peter supposes he can play along. "All right. Who do you like?"

"That one?" Pierce offers, pointing.

"Eucchh. Too hairy," Peter answers, and then has the decency to look chagrined at Pierce's half-astonished expression. "I like it just fine on you," he mumbles.

"Hmph. Your turn again."

"The blond at the bar?" Tanned, toned, not too tall. Peter wouldn't say he's the first choice of the evening, but he'll do.

He'll do for Pierce as well, it seems, because Pierce nods. "That's fine," he agrees. "You want to go get him or shall I?"

"Your pick-up lines are better," Peter says. "I think you have more practice."

Pierce gives him a look, raises an eyebrow, but if the remark's meant to sting it doesn't quite manage the job. He heads off to the bar, leaving Peter pressed to the wall and straining to hear.

There's nothing to hear over the crowd noise, though. All he can do is watch: watch while Pierce slides past and gets the blond's attention, watch while Pierce flirts and grins and nods Peter's way. The blond turns and meets Peter's eyes, and he grins broadly, turning back to Pierce and nodding. That's a boost to the ego; Peter can imagine what it might be like being seen a a drawback, and he's glad that isn't the case tonight.

So Pierce comes back with the night's catch, and Peter smiles, offers him a drink of his Guinness. "Thirsty tonight?" he asks.

"More like hungry," says the blond, licking his lips. "I'm David."

"Peter. And you know Pierce already..."

"Yeah." David nods. "So, uh, you guys got a place or what?"

Two doms exchange a look at the question. This probably should have been sorted out before. But Pierce's house is cleaner, owing to the fact that Peter's has been getting lived in the past few weeks.

"My place," Pierce says, just as Peter's saying, "His place."

"Well, all right, then," David says with a grin. "Let's go."

* * *

Pierce drives home while Peter slides into the back seat with David, so Peter's the one who gets to take the evening's trick for a test drive. And lucky him; David's energetic and enthusiastic, and in no time at all he's half-sprawled across the back seat, groaning and rocking his hips up as Peter strokes him off.

"No coming," Peter says, giving David a merciless little twist of the wrist. "We want you to last."

"Fuck," David breathes, "it's not like I couldn't get it up again..."

"Yeah?" Pierce asks. He looks in the rearview mirror and catches Peter's eye. "Make him prove it."

Peter smirks, and suddenly David's coming all over his hand. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck, oh, Christ," David pants, "fucking _good_," he elaborates, "_yeah_. Aw, fuck. You two always go tricking together?"

_We should,_ Peter thinks, but he has to shake his head. "Lucky you tonight," he says. "Pierce, be a luv and hand back a handkerchief..."

"Just tell me you haven't stained the upholstery," Pierce says, handing a handkerchief back over his shoulder.

"Nothing of the sort," Peter says. He wipes his hand clean and lets David clean up and get dressed again. "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

"Nearly." Pierce shifts in the driver's seat. At least Peter's not any more comfortable than he is. He's impatient to get home, too; not impatient enough to run any red lights, but he does lean on the gas more than the speed limits call for. And when they're finally home, he doesn't wait for them to get out of the back seat before he's heading for the door, key in hand, more than ready to be inside.

Peter keeps up, but only barely; he's got David's arm around his waist, and he's prodding the man to move faster. As soon as they're inside, Peter pushes David into the wall and shoves his thigh between David's legs. David winces, but Peter's got him pinned, and he bites David's neck hard.

"Nice," Pierce says, taking the time to lock up and get his shoes and jacket off. "I'd thought we might want to have furniture, but if you want him this way..."

"Bastard," Peter laughs, cheek rubbing against David's neck. "I think our lad might like furniture, yes."

"Well, if I get a vote..."

Pierce smirks. "Living room's through there," he says, pointing.

"I know where it is," Peter growls, already pulling David off the wall and shoving him through the archway. "What do you think, Pierce? Over the sofa's arm?"

"It's padded. It'll do."

David barely has time to get his jacket off. Peter unsnaps and unzips David's jeans, shoving him face-down over the armrest. David goes without argument, stretching his arms out in front of him to give him some support. He looks over at Pierce. "Just gonna watch, or do you want me to suck you?"

"Choices, choices." Pierce ambles to the couch and slides his jeans down past his thighs, taking a seat just in front of David, easily within range of his mouth. "Peter?"

Peter's already thought of it; he tosses a condom to Pierce, who rolls it on. David gives Pierce a disappointed look. "Do you have to--"

"_Yes_, he has to," Peter answers, pinching David's ass hard enough to make David yelp. "Complaining?"

"No, no, fuck, just..." David shoves his hips back. "Just fuck me, please?"

"Me first," Pierce murmurs, balancing on one hand and drawing the other behind David's neck. "Open for me."

David opens his mouth and takes Pierce's cock in, groaning as Pierce tightens his grip on the back of David's neck and holds him steady. Pierce isn't crazy about condoms for blowjobs, either, but he supposes it's worth it. The look of David, mouth sinking lower and lower -- God, that's beautiful. But it's got nothing on the look on Peter's face when he gets his cock out, slides the condom on, and starts sinking in.

David jerks, almost biting Pierce; Pierce gets a grip on David's hair and keeps it tight. He glances up at Peter. "You didn't want to give him just a bit of lube?" he asks.

"Does he want lube?" Peter asks, sinking in another fraction of an inch. David grunts and shoves back, getting Peter in that much further. "I think what's on the condom is enough. He seems like the sort of slut who wants it that rough. Aren't you?"

David lets out a loud sound of agreement and goes back to sucking Pierce off, groaning every time Peter gains another inch inside him. Finally, when Peter's buried in David's body and Pierce's cock is so far down David's throat that it really ought to be choking him, Peter looks up at Pierce and grins. "_Fuck_, this is good," he breathes. "Why haven't we done this before?"

"Stop talking," Pierce says, leaning forward across David's body and grabbing Peter by the shirt. "Come kiss me."

"Or kiss you and come?" Peter leans forward, too, mouth seeking out Pierce's, and he shoves his tongue into Pierce's mouth as he keeps thrusting into David's body. All in all, though, David's forgotten between them, a pair of holes to fill, a body to fuck, nothing more than that. Nothing compared to what they're getting from each other.

Pierce has to pull back first, clutching David's hair and gasping. "Close," he groans. "You?"

"Close enough," Peter says, putting his hands on David's hips. "And you..." He smacks David's thigh. "You can come, or not. It really doesn't matter."

Hearing that makes David rock between them even harder, though, and when Pierce comes, he can feel David screaming all around his cock. Peter groans along with them, cock pulsing hard in David's ass, and he feels David tighten up all around him. "Oh, good boy," Peter gasps.

"Very good boy," Pierce agrees, pulling out and slumping into the couch cushions.

David coughs a few times as Peter pulls out and strips his condom off. He ambles off to the bathroom; Pierce hears running water for a few minutes, and then Peter comes back and Pierce trades places with him. Off to the bathroom to clean up, then back out to the living room to see how Peter and David are doing.

David's dressed again, and he's tugging his jacket on. "You don't have to give me a lift anywhere. But if one of you can call me a cab..."

"Of course." Peter fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and dials. David grins from one man to the other and scratches at the back of his neck while Peter arranges the cab ride, and once he hangs up, David heads for the door.

"That was easy," Pierce says after he's gone. "No mess. No fuss. We really ought to do that again sometime."

"Sometime," Peter agrees, sprawling out on the couch and kicking his shoes off. "But get over here. I want something I didn't get from our night's trick."

"Mm? What's that?" Pierce asks, stretching out on top of Peter.

"This," Peter says, leaning up and licking Pierce's lips. He slides his tongue into Pierce's mouth as Pierce moans and starts kissing back. It's a long, slow, deep, lingering kiss, and neither one of them's in any hurry to end it.

Pierce pulls back first, though, just so he can be sure he isn't smothering Peter. "That was good," he whispers.

"That was better than the trick, I think." Peter grins. "There's no place like home."

_-end-_


End file.
